


Five Things Ronon Loves

by mific



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5 Things, Cereal, Dogs, Fanfiction, M/M, Satedan Culture, Vodka
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mific/pseuds/mific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five things or people Ronon loves, as he adjusts to living in Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Ronon Loves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SGA_Love festival, Valentine's 2014. This isn't an AU, but it's not quite canon either.  
> For the prompts: Ronon and Earth food, Ronon/Keller – what you want, Ronon/puppy, Ronon/Radek – offworld, Ronon/John – looks good in leather, Ronon/John – first kiss, Satedan culture.

 

Buddy

 

**1\. Cereal**

The food on Atlantis is a revelation. Ronon doesn't give a shit if people think he's got no manners. Let _them_ try living off bugs and berries and half-raw rat-things for seven years.

He shovels it in at first, uses his hands because cutlery is just too fucking slow. Cutlery feels alien and false in his hands, like the metal waldos that put together groundcars in that factory back on Sateda. His squad had to check the place out when a new recruit went AWOL; they found the kid hiding under his brother's workbench while those giant metal hands whirred and swiveled and manipulated tools way up above them. The kid's brother turned him in, called him a coward. Ronon punched him out for that, and they took the kid back to barracks and hushed it up. He turned into a good fighter in the end – fierce and sneaky. He's dead now. They all are.

Ronon's used to the hands-on approach, after years of living rough. He doesn't need waldos on the ends of his arms. Just his knife.

~~~

He calms down after a while, gets sick of people giving him shit about table manners. Mostly, he discovers Cocoa Krispies, and they're really messy to eat with his hands or a knife. Cocoa Krispies are worth using cutlery; he likes to crunch them up and pop them against his tongue. At first the mess has cereals in tiny boxes – McKay calls them "individual serves" but Ronon can only imagine they're for children; he eats a bunch of them at a time. After a while some bigger boxes of Cocoa Krispies appear, although all the other cereals are still in child-sized packets.

"It's slightly less disturbing watching him polish off an entire 17.5 oz box than an armful of the small ones," says McKay, through a mouthful of muffin crumbs, "and there's considerably less mess, so I guess that's a plus."

"Yeah," says Sheppard, toying with a bowl of melon chunks. The botanists shipped in soil from the mainland using some puddlejumpers – Sheppard supervising anxiously to make sure his babies were properly cleaned up afterward. They're growing melons and big orange things that Parrish calls "squash" out on the west pier terraces. Ronon's not sure why they're called that – maybe that's how you get the juice out. Sheppard puts his spoon down. "I got the Daedalus to bring a supply of the bigger boxes."

Ronon looks up. A little milk runs into his beard and he licks his lip. "Thanks," he says indistinctly through a mouthful of crispy, chocolaty goodness.

Sheppard shrugs casually, but his eyes follow Ronon's tongue as he chases the trickle of milk down his chin. " _De nada_ ," he says. The gate doesn't translate that, so it can't be important.

 

~~~o0o~~~

 

**2\. Buddy**

Ronon misses hugs. Satedan culture was a lot more physical, more demonstrative. His team are his team, and he'd die for them, but they're crap at hugging. Teyla turns hugs into the Athosian forehead-press, and yeah, that's her thing, but it's not a hug. McKay goes wide-eyed and flaps his hands like he's a trapped bird flailing against Ronon's back. Sheppard's just plain twitchy about touching at all. He goes all stiff, hunches his shoulders and tucks his chin in, like Ronon's planning to get him in a head-lock. It's a good defensive move, but not great for hugging. Sometimes Ronon can catch him unawares and get in a stealth hug from behind, maybe fling Sheppard around a little, hiding the hug in roughhousing. It's not the same.

Later, he thinks that was why he courted Keller – that and the doctor thing. He's always liked doctors: they're hands-on people too. Also, she looks nothing at all like Melena.

Keller's not flappy like McKay, or formal like Teyla, or spooked like Sheppard. He can tell she's a little freaked out when he hugs her, but she hugs him back gamely enough. She's too small, though, too fine-boned; he worries he might crush her like one of Parrish's squash things. It's like hugging a child, which makes him feel protective, but it's all mixed up with wanting more, so he feels like he's doing something wrong, like he's wanting what he shouldn't.

He's not ready to have sex with anyone yet.

Then McKay's interested as well, and that's annoying, but good, too. Ronon acts like he's pissed, like it's something he cares about, but it's his chance to bow out. He maneuvers Keller to choose McKay and when she does it's a relief. Things are a little weird between him and McKay, but they always were, so it's pretty much the same. Sheppard starts hanging with Ronon more – it's not clear if he's trying to cheer Ronon up or just at a loose end, now McKay's dating Keller. It's kind of nice, so Ronon doesn't examine it too closely.

On a no-name world McKay calls P4G-559, they find a culled town. It's the usual shit – a few life-sucked bodies but all the rest taken, and the village trashed and smoldering. They split up to search for survivors, McKay muttering bitterly about pointless missions to places with no energy sources, but they all know it's what he does when he's scared.

Ronon and Teyla search some larger houses across a stream, and Ronon's about to give up when he hears a faint whimper. He tracks it to a cupboard under the stairs where he finds a cowering ball of fluff. It snarls at him helplessly, too weak to escape but it's still got some fight left: he likes that. He picks up the puppy – not long weaned, but thin and desperate. The town was culled several days ago, but there were empty bowls in its hiding place and he imagines a child setting down water and food and telling the pup to be quiet, even as people screamed and darts whined overhead. Ronon pulls out his canteen and pours water into a bowl, and the puppy drinks frantically. He doesn't let it have too much. Teyla's calling from outside so he scoops up the little dog and tucks it in his pack. It stays quiet all the way back to the city and he feels its warmth through the leather, snug against his shoulder blades. Probably his heartbeat calmed it, and it slept.

Ronon hides the puppy in his room for a few days while he feeds it up and cares for it. He'd like to have an animal doctor check it – they call them vets here, although what war they were in, Ronon doesn't know. Maybe their armies used horses or something, although Sheppard's never mentioned animal warriors, only birds, and Ronon knows they weren't real birds, just flying machines. He can't risk letting anyone else know though, with Weir's rule against animals. Ronon can't see why; he grew up with animals, fought with trained dogs. He's even ridden steggi which were something like Earth horses, but bigger and hairier. They were part of the Satedan army in his father's day before armored groundcars replaced them, and the Dex clan owned several. Ronon misses having a warrior-dog to scent out enemies. The best always had wild blood – Sheppard would call it wolf blood. He thinks the pup might be half wild, from his coat and ears.

He gives the pup a war-name, Vondex, which means friend-of-Dex. Dogs are always named for the clan-link. Pups need a play-name as well though, so for now, when he's petting him – it's a him; Ronon checked – Ronon calls the pup Bahde, or little one. It's a baby name, but the pup's too small to be weakened by it and there'll be time to toughen him up later. It amuses Ronon that Sheppard's pet name is so close to the Satedan word, that when he calls Ronon buddy, it's like Ronon, looming over him, is his too-tall baby brother.

After a few days the pup's plumped out and bright-eyed, tumbling on the bed and scrambling around the room, yipping and play-biting. He's too small to bark yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone hears him, or Sheppard comes calling.

Months of jogging have taught Ronon the outskirts of the city, beyond the inhabited parts the expedition's claimed as its own. Places where trash too awkward to be dismantled or incinerated is dumped in stacks and teetering piles. Now they get regular resupplies from Earth, people are sloppier about recycling every scrap. There's a courtyard out past the xenobiology labs where they stash unwanted animal crates. He finds some good-sized ones and takes them further out, where no one goes but him, on his runs. He sets the pup up with a covered crate in case of rain, a dirt-crate for waste and a play and feeding chain of crates.

Ronon starts running three times a day, whenever he can. He steals animal biscuits from the xeno labs, saves part of his meals – what if he's eating more than usual? He's a big guy – and spends as much time as possible out there playing, bringing Badhe with him on walks or short runs as his legs lengthen and his balance steadies. It's hard to leave him, every time, mournful whines and howls following Ronon as he jogs away, not looking back. Reunions are always great – Badhe flies out of the opened crate and into Ronon's arms. He's still small, but he's a born hugger, a solid furry mass in Ronon's arms, wriggling and licking under Ronon's jaw, making him snort.

"So this's where you've been hanging out, huh?"

Ronon stiffens: it's Sheppard's drawl. Badhe snarls, hackles rising, and Ronon grabs him by the scruff.

"Hey, whoa, little fella," says Sheppard, squatting down, not making eye contact with the dog. Ronon mutters soothing nonsense to calm him and Sheppard casually offers his hand to be sniffed, then even more carefully rubs behind the pup's ears. "Hey, Buddy, good boy," murmurs Sheppard, and it's close enough to Badhe that the pup responds, wagging and tentatively licking Sheppard's hand.

"Got him on P4G-559, huh?" asks Sheppard, grinning up at Ronon.

"Yeah," says Ronon. "Couldn't leave him behind." Sheppard nods. Ronon sighs. "Thought I was keeping it quiet. What with Weir's rule..." he gestures vaguely.

"Well, 's not just her rule y'know. Expedition policy. The biologists worry we might bring out all these Earth pets, mess up the wildlife here."

"Like McKay's cat," Ronon says.

"Sure. Rodney'd have his cat out here in a flash. Back home cats kill small birds, small animals. Might be a problem here, if it got loose."

"Don't see how," Ronon mutters. "The city's an island. This one's not _from_ Earth, anyway."

Sheppard's lounging on one elbow now, playing tug of war with the pup who's sunk tiny teeth in his jacket sleeve and is growling. "Nope, but it's kind of like why there aren't kids here, either." He pulls the puppy into his lap before it rips a hole in his sleeve, rolling it over and rubbing its stomach. Badhe goes to sleep. Sheppard looks across at Ronon. "We're a frontline war base. Hard to have kids here, or pets underfoot. One'd be okay, sure, but if one person had a dog, you know lots of people'd want one."

"Or a cat," says Ronon, frowning at the fickle pup, who's abandoned him for Sheppard.

"Maybe, if they had cats here – do they?"

"Yeah," says Ronon. "Some places. They're mostly wild." He looks over at Sheppard, cradling his snoring dog. "His war-name's Vondex, but I mostly call him Badhe."

"Buddy?" says Sheppard, flashing a grin. "Good name." It's not quite right, but it's close enough. Maybe it won't matter if the baby-name sticks – Ronon can still train him to be a fierce fighter.

"Yeah, Buddy," says Ronon. "You gonna turn me in?"

"Nah," says Sheppard. "But he can't stay out here, right? This's no place for a growing dog, anyway. And what if you got hurt on a mission and couldn't come by?"

It's true enough; Ronon hadn't liked to think about it. "I'm not taking him back. There's no one there."

"It's okay, we'll take him to the Athosians on the mainland. Bound to be a kid there wants to help raise your dog, big guy. And Teyla'll keep an eye on him when she's over there."

Ronon relaxes. Yeah, that might work. "I can visit him, right?"

"Hell, yeah. I'll fly you over whenever you want. Rodney will too – be good jumper practice for him."

"He won't leave the lab just for that," says Ronon, shaking his head.

Sheppard grins. "You wait and see. He's a sucker for kids and animals – pretends he hates them but he's a big softie really. He'll bitch and moan but before you know it he'll be nagging you to head on over so he can play with your dog." Sheppard hands the pup across and clambers to his feet. "I'm gonna get a jumper and come by to pick you both up, okay?"

Ronon nods, arms full of Buddy's soft, furry weight. The pup licks him drowsily, snuggling into his chest. Ronon folds his arms around his dog and hugs him. Maybe it'll be okay after all.

 

~~~o0o~~~

 

**3\. Vodka**

They lose Zelenka on the planet of the apes. McKay calls it that at the debrief afterward, making Sheppard roll his eyes so there's some reference Ronon isn't getting. He's used to it.

Zelenka tags along on the mission for some technical thing with an outpost – McKay needs him at the DHD while he works on the consoles of an Ancient ruin a few minutes away by jumper. The planet's got shield technology, or the potential for a shield, McKay says.

Sheppard drops Ronon and Zelenka at the DHD and flies the rest of the team to the outpost. Ronon's twitchy – McKay said there were no lifesigns nearby, but he's uneasy. He patrols in widening arcs, unhappy with the terrain which is rolling grassland with hillocks and thick scrub – no good sightlines and plenty of spots for an ambush. Zelenka's wrist-deep in the DHD's innards, arguing with McKay over his radio.

Ronon sees a flicker of movement in a stand of scrub and freezes, then heads over to check it out. Probably just animals, but still...

There's nothing there when Ronon reaches the spot, just broken twigs. He hears rustling in the next thicket of brush further out, but he can't see anything. Then Zelenka screams, short and abruptly cut off, and Ronon's running, leaping boulders and low bushes, skidding to a stop at the DHD. No Zelenka, just his tools, abandoned.

The grass is tough and springy, making it hard to track anything. At least there's no blood, so maybe he wasn't taken by a predator. Maybe it just hasn't eaten him yet. Ronon finds a radio in the grass near the DHD, and curses. He taps his own to tell Sheppard what's happened while he widens his search, but the scrub near the DHD shows no signs of a struggle. He can't find the trail.

The jumper's back in ten minutes but Ronon still hasn't found any trace of what happened. Sheppard does an aerial search and McKay looks for Zelenka's transponder, but comes up blank.

"Okay, weird, because even if he'd been..." McKay blanches, "um, dragged off by some," flailing gestures, " _thing_ , we'd still see it, and maybe a lifesign." McKay swallows. "But there's just nothing."

"Any luck, guys?" asks Sheppard, voice staticky over the radio. "Teyla and I can't see a damn thing from up here – there's no sign of him, or anything else. We're heading back. Sheppard out."

"Caves?" asks Ronon, although the rocks aren't limestone.

"I'd see the transponder in a cave," objects McKay, "so, no. And there's still no lifesigns anywhere."

The jumper sets down nearby and Sheppard and Teyla emerge, looking worried. Ronon nods at the DHD. "That thing working?"

McKay glances at it distractedly. "Probably, we weren't dismantling–" He drops to his knees beside it and reconnects two wires, reverses a crystal. He looks up, frowning. "But we can't leave Radek behind..."

"Not gonna," says Ronon. "Bad country for tracking – the grass won't take prints, too much cover with the bushes." Teyla nods agreement, and Ronon glances at Sheppard. "I need Buddy."

Sheppard frowns. "He's still pretty young. You sure he's up to it?"

"Yeah," says Ronon. "Been training him."

"As have Wex and Jinto," Teyla agrees. "They say he is a good hunting dog."

~~~

They all go back to get Buddy – Sheppard won't leave anyone there when they don't know what took Zelenka.

Sheppard flies them back through the gate then straight up and out the jumper bay without a pause, McKay talking non-stop, drowning out Weir's startled objections. Sometimes McKay's talking's useful.

Buddy's thrilled to see them – racing into the jumper ahead of Ronon to greet the others. He doesn't often get them all together so he forgets himself and jumps up, licking McKay's face and eeling around McKay's and Sheppard's legs, tail thrashing, until McKay evicts him, waving his hands and calling Buddy a flea-ridden hair-shedding menace, but patting his rump as Buddy pads back to lie at Ronon's feet. He's up to Ronon's knees now, but his feet look big. He's still growing.

Back to the city, and McKay's on the radio with Weir. A second team's being scrambled but they dial and go back through without waiting. They've got Radek's day-pack and tools so Ronon lets Buddy smell them, then looses the dog near the DHD.

Buddy snuffles frantically, finds a scent, then he's off, heading for some bushes Ronon's checked a dozen times. He skids to a stop just short of the trees, though, sniffs furiously, then puts his head back and howls.

"Oh my god," McKay says. "Does that mean?..."

"Just means the scent stops there." Ronon pats Buddy, tells him he did well. Buddy crouches, staring at the turf.

"But there is nothing," says Teyla, puzzled.

"Transporter beam?" suggests Sheppard, looking up. The sky's blue with a few scudding clouds, two moons like ghostly spheres near the horizon.

"What, like a Wraith beam?" asks McKay nervously. "The scanner didn't show any sign of tech activation here when we were at the ruin."

"I detect no Wraith," says Teyla firmly.

"Only one place to look then," says Ronon, pulling his knife. "Down." He crouches and grabs the thick grass, planning to slice it free. A square of turf lifts off, already separated, and Ronon nearly falls on his ass. Buddy plants his front legs and barks at the metal plate revealed, a handle inset.

"Peachy, bunkers," says Sheppard. "Why is it always goddam bunkers?"

"Wraith come from the sky," says Ronon, but he's pulling up the door, revealing a metal ladder into darkness.

Sheppard shines his P-90 torch in, and the floor's not far down. Ronon goes first, knife clenched in his teeth, then Buddy's lowered down, wriggling, and Ronon catches him then helps McKay and Teyla. Sheppard comes last. "Second jumper'll be here soon – they can't miss the hatch now it's open," he says.

Buddy's already sniffing around, then he barks once and heads off down the passage, almost before Ronon can get his flashlight out. It's pitch black but the floor's smooth-pressed dirt, so he runs to catch up. They travel for about five minutes, passing several side-tunnels, take the left at a fork, and then Buddy skids to a halt at a corner, whining.

Ronon hushes the others, waves them down. He can hear it too, the rustle of bodies, things moving – maybe animals? He can't hear speech, just grunts and a strange sort of gibbering. Buddy growls softly, and Ronon grabs his scruff in warning.

"Flashbang?" whispers Sheppard, who's crawled up beside them on his belly.

"That seems excessive," murmurs Teyla, crouched at Ronon's other side. "We have insufficient information. For all we know a flashbang might kill...whatever is there."

"Or piss it off," mutters McKay from behind Ronon's shoulder. "Piss them off, whatever."

"Gonna have to just do it, then," says Ronon. He straightens, draws his blaster, waits for Sheppard to give the word, then they charge around the corner, flashlights blazing and weapons ready.

When the cluster of animals have scattered, vanishing down a network of tunnels with frightened grunts and screeches, they find Zelenka tied to a post. He's been decorated with strands of grass and small white flowers. Bright blue fruit pulp is daubed in lines across his face, but he's otherwise unharmed.

"Christ," says McKay, "it's M7G-677 all over again – planet kid-kill." He fumbles in a tac-vest pocket. "Wait, I gotta get a photo."

" _Srát na všechno!_ " spits Zelenka. Buddy rushes over and starts washing his face and Zelenka splutters. "Much as I appreciate your dog's attempts to save me from Rodney's camera, I would rather use towel." Teyla starts working on his bonds.

"A towel," Sheppard says solemnly (Ronon can see he's struggling not to laugh), "is the most massively useful item an interstellar explorer can carry." McKay glares at him and Sheppard pulls out a field dressing and wets it from his canteen. "No towel, but maybe this'll do." Teyla takes it from him and wipes Zelenka's face carefully.

"Thank you for finding me," says Zelenka, picking grass-heads and flowers from his hair. "They did not mean harm, I do not think, but the darkness and the gibbering, and all this," – gesturing at his face and hair – "was frightening. I did not know how to find the surface, and I was afraid you might not..."

"Buddy tracked you," says Ronon, helping Zelenka up. Zelenka kneels and thanks Buddy, petting his ears. Buddy licks his neck.

They leave, McKay looking back, frowning. "They looked like chimps, but chimps on Earth don't make ropes or build tunnels." He points his flashlight at a supporting post as they pass, dovetailed carefully into a broad ceiling beam.

"Could they have moved in after a human population was culled?" asks Teyla.

"Possible, but they tied Radek's hands. They know knots. The face-paint and flowers seemed ritualistic. Plus there's the mystery of Radek's transponder – the tunnels may be shielded somehow. I think they're sentient."

"I agree, said Radek. "I could see little, but the noises they made were not random. I believe it was language."

"Hoo boy, the anthropologists are gonna wet themselves," says Sheppard. Not often we find non-human sentients. Maybe they're the missing link?"

"The degree to which that statement shows how utterly wrong you are about evolution leaves me breathless," McKay retorts, and they're off. No one else gets a word in all the way to the ladder.

~~~

Zelenka takes to visiting Buddy on the mainland whenever he's over there, slipping him bits of bacon or orange-colored cheese. Buddy loves cheese.

Zelenka comes to see Ronon in his quarters with a bottle of vodka. Ronon's never tried vodka before but it's good stuff, just like rakke, the Satedan firewater made from sweet potatoes. They get very drunk and Radek teaches Ronon to sing sad Czech songs. Ronon teaches him Satedan laments. He decides he loves Radek. When Sheppard comes by to check on them later he finds Ronon sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed with Radek passed out across his legs. Tears are rolling down Ronon's face.

"Hey, hey, buddy," says Sheppard, bending to touch Ronon's shoulder. "You okay?"

"He's so little," says Ronon. "He'd never make it." Sheppard raises an eyebrow. "As a runner," Ronon explains mournfully.

"Uh huh," says Sheppard. "Then we're gonna make sure he never has to be one, right?" Ronon nods vehemently, then regrets it, staggering to the bathroom while Sheppard cares for Radek.

The next morning Ronon's love for Radek has tempered to affection, but he still loves vodka. Which Sheppard, the bastard, has stolen.

 

~~~o0o~~~

 

**4\. Leather**

Ronon doesn't always wear leather. He's got a jerkin made of homespun, a linen shirt. He won't wear the weird scratchy cloth the expedition uses for uniforms, though. Teyla goes along, but Ronon's not compromising that much – Satedan uniforms were so much cooler.

Besides, even though Sheppard's weird about touching, he looks at Ronon's ass in leather pants. Ronon _always_ wears leather pants.

Except that one time he got shot in the leg and they had to cut his pants off. That was when he noticed it. He got another pair made by the Athosians but it took three weeks and he had to wear BDUs, hating the way they chafed and pulled. Sheppard didn't look at his ass in BDUs, but the first time they stepped through the gate with Ronon sporting his new leather pants, Sheppard's eyes were drawn helplessly back to his ass.

Ronon's been testing out his theory. Track pants work pretty well, and the soft bleached-out jeans he got from Parrish – not many guys on Atlantis have got legs as long as Ronon's – in exchange for identifying plants from a bunch of worlds. Sheppard watches his ass in those as well, but not quite as avidly.

It's not just the leather. Teyla wears a leather skirt sometimes and she's the hottest woman Ronon's ever known, but Sheppard doesn't watch _her_ ass. Rod from another universe had a leather jacket, but Sheppard didn't stare at his shoulders in it. And McKay's got good shoulders.

So the leather works best, but it's not the only reason Sheppard's eyes stray. Ronon's generally "on their six" as Sheppard says, from the pointers of an old Earth clock. Satedan timers used to be clockwork, but the faces were different, Sateda having a twenty arc day. Not that an arc's the same as an hour, it's more like ninety minutes. Anyway, Ronon figures Sheppard puts him on their six whenever he can so he won't be tempted to stare at Ronon's ass. Sheppard's still weird about touching, but Ronon figures it might be the same sort of thing. Maybe Sheppard's afraid that if he starts touching Ronon, he won't be able to stop. Ronon likes that idea.

Ronon likes to tease Sheppard, bending over in front of him on any pretext. Or rubbing his own hands down his thighs, stroking the leather. He caught Sheppard's jaw dropping once when he did that. Sheppard's eyes looked glazed and he had to visibly snap out of it. Teyla caught Ronon's eye and gave him that big sister look, shaking her head in disbelief. Ronon just grinned.

So all things considered, it's pretty great, leather.

 

~~~o0o~~~

 

**5\. Sheppard**

What with McKay off with Keller and Sheppard coming around more, and taking Ronon over to see Buddy all the time, and the leather, Ronon figures he's in with a chance.

He can't do anything though, because Sheppard's his taskmaster. Ronon's not some mannerless new recruit from the backblocks who's new to the squad and doesn't know shit about anything. The taskmaster has to make the move: it's his prerogative to choose his companion.

A few months pass and nothing happens, and Ronon can almost _taste_ Sheppard's longing. He can't understand why Sheppard's holding back. He doesn't seem interested in anyone else, and Ronon's left him plenty of clues.

Back home (but he has no home; this is his home now, it has to be) Ronon would have gone to a professional go-between, a ganmari. Not that he'd have needed to: his taskmaster wouldn't have dicked around for months, not with Ronon being as obvious as he can without being impolite. Ganmari are basically negotiators – sometimes match-makers, sometimes forging business deals.

He paces, and thinks it through, and then he goes to Teyla.

"Ronon, come in," she says, unbothered by him turning up at her door late at night. "Will you take tea?"

They sip the brew – brassa leaves from the Tarnian uplands, so it's good. Teyla waits him out, sitting quietly, cross-legged.

"Need some help with Sheppard," Ronon says, finally. Teyla nods thoughtfully.

"Help with?" she asks, gazing calmly into her tea, knowing he'll find it easier to speak if she's not making eye-contact. She's a born ganmari.

"I like him. He likes me." Ronon shrugs.

"Ah," says Teyla contemplatively. "Yes, indeed."

"He's not _doing_ anything!" Ronon can't help but let out a little of his frustration. He takes a deep breath.

"Their customs are different, Ronon," Teyla says quietly, and now she's looking at him, sympathy in her gaze. Ronon snorts and nods. Yeah, he figured that one out. "The military John is part of has especially strict rules, I gather. Have you heard of DADT?"

"Kind of. Means no one can talk about it if they're fucking?"

Teyla shrugs one shoulder. "No one can tell and nor can they ask another, but only if a man lies with another man, or a woman with another woman."

Ronon screws up his face. Man, these people are fucked up. "Huh? But how do they keep women from having too many children if there're taboos against that?

"I know," says Teyla. "It seems very strange and backward, but instead they use medicines – the women take a pill or an injection – or they use those plastic sheaths on the penis, to catch the man's seed."

Ronon shakes his head – he's seen those things and they're just plain weird. One a marine showed him had little lumps all over it, and another smelled like fruit. Weird. "I can't ask him if he wants to, anyway, because he's my taskmaster."

"Ah," says Teyla, her professional interest as a ganmari aroused. "So a squad-member cannot ask that of his taskmaster?" Ronon nods. "But a taskmaster may ask one of his squad?" He nods again. Teyla thinks about this, brow wrinkled. "How is it ensured that the taskmaster, who has more power, does not abuse this with his junior?"

Ronon's eyebrows shoot up. "The squad, of course. 's an honour to be the taskmaster's companion, so everyone knows. Squad wouldn't let a taskmaster treat his companion badly. The higher-ups know as well – there's paperwork to register the bond." He catches himself and looks down, draws in a shaky breath. "There was. Paperwork."

"Kell?" Teyla asks, her insight blade-sharp. Ronon can only nod, eyes down.

She sighs. "Here, in John's military, there are no such checks and balances. Such liaisons are essentially forbidden and so are shrouded in secrecy. A taskmaster is also forbidden from what they term fraternization – a relationship with any man or woman in their squad. They fear the junior member might be abused. You know that they have strange, backward attitudes to women, in John's culture?" Ronon nods. It's a pretty primitive place, this Earth, for all its technology. Almost as bad as the Genii.

"You're saying he'll never make a move, then?" Ronon says. His stomach is tight.

Teyla rocks her hand from side to side. "I am saying he feels that he cannot. That he _should_ not, no matter what he wants."

Ronon bites his lip. "What if I..." It would be a risk, and a gross breach of etiquette, but that only makes it hotter. It used to be a type of porn, back in the barracks. Ronon's seen viewdisks of rude boys seducing their taskmasters, jerked off to the images in the privacy of his own room later on. Shocking, but he's always been kinky that way. He flushes, stares at his empty tea cup. He can't talk about _that_ with Teyla, but he wouldn't be surprised if she guessed, anyway.

She refills his cup serenely. "John would probably rebuff you, but if you were persistent, and convinced him that the team would not suffer, you might be able to persuade him." She flashes him a positively lewd smile. "I am sure that you can be persuasive, Ronon."

Ronon huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, reckon." He sips his tea, then looks over at Teyla. "Worth a try."

She inclines her head. "It would please me to see you both happier."

Ronon gets up to go. She's been a good ganmari; he'll find her a special gift at the next market.

"Ronon?" She's risen as well, to farewell him. "Remember discretion. I am told that his hierarchy could send him back to Earth if this were discovered, even though Elizabeth does not agree with the rule. John will need reassurance that you can be careful if you are to persuade him."

Ronon nods. No one'll know; there'll be no drinking party with his squadmates to celebrate, no papers to register the bond if he brings Sheppard around. "McKay won't notice – but you'll have my back?" Not that he thinks Sheppard would ever abuse his trust. It's fucked up, though, that something so normal is hidden and secretive. He feels better to have one squadmate knowing.

"But of course," says Teyla. "And I am here if you need to talk. John finds that...difficult."

Ronon snorts, and she pulls him down to touch foreheads. "Good luck, Ronon," she says.

_~~~_

Ronon looks up through his lashes to where John's propped on pillows, staring down his body, eyes dark, his mouth swollen from kissing. It's their one-year anniversary, well, in Earth years, so Ronon's not sure if that counts. He's trying to fit in, though, to adapt and not always translate back into Satedan measures or Satedan ways. Still, he owes Teyla the one-year ganmari gift – he has a rich blue silk scarf embroidered with edda flowers back in his quarters, wrapped and ready for her.

On the one-year anniversary the companion gets to do what he likes, so Ronon's sucking John. After, he plans to roll him over and fuck him.

It went much as Teyla predicted, with Sheppard – John, now – skittish as a steggi colt in spring. When Ronon first kissed him he melted, mouth opening hungrily, his tongue twining with Ronon's. Then he was pushing Ronon back, saying _we can't, we can't, god, Ronon, we can't_. Ronon, however, learned stubbornness in seven years of running. He's not easily deterred. He wore John down, hopelessly turned on by the hotness of being the instigator, seducing his taskmaster. The first time he dropped to his knees and undid John's pants, took John's cock into his mouth, he almost came on the spot.

As time's passed, they've settled in and gotten comfortable. Ronon no longer feels like a rude, kinky boy whenever they fuck. But tonight it's their anniversary so he's letting himself have this, sprawled between John's splayed thighs, one arm holding his hips down, the other hand on his cock. Ronon curls his tongue around the shaft and drags it across the head. "Taskmaster," he murmurs, and sucks gently.

John makes a choked noise. "Specialist Dex!" he manages, giving a creditable impression of shocked surprise. "What are you? Oh, oh god!" He literally loses the plot then, goes non-verbal. It took a while to get John to play along and act like the taskmasters being seduced on Ronon's old porn disks, but he's into it now. Ronon moans around John's cock, sucking in earnest and jerking him with his hand. When John's pretty close, Ronon pulls off, grinning, his hand still moving. "Gonna fuck you next, taskmaster, and I'm not using a goddam sheath."

"Fuck, Ronon, _bareback_ , fuck!" groans John, his back arching, and he comes into Ronon's slick fist, thighs quivering under Ronon's arms. Ronon cleans him up lovingly, then slithers up his body. John's gasping and boneless, a sappy smile on his face. "Hey, you, c'mere," he says, pulling Ronon in and they kiss, sweet and slow.

Ronon really wants to fuck John – his cock's pressed in between them, rock hard – but he wants this more. He loves kissing John, loves the way John opens to him now, sated and sensual, making small sounds of pleasure in his throat.

They break off to breathe. "Specialist Dex," murmurs John, "you are a very naughty boy."

"Yeah, I know," says Ronon, grinning, "and you love it."

"I sure do," says John, and pulls him down again to kiss.

 

_~~~ the end ~~~_


End file.
